


Better Than Nothing

by Eksdy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Future Fic, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eksdy/pseuds/Eksdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles moans when Derek shoves him back against the door, burying his face in Stiles’ neck and breathing in heavily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is unbetaed. I've been been working on it for about five days worth of actual time over the course of two years. I've read it. I've re-read it. I've read it again. I've changed some things around and then I've read it again six months later. I've caught as many mistakes as I could, but there could easily be some that slid by me. 
> 
> Full warning- the ending is angst.

 

Stiles moans when Derek shoves him back against the door, burying his face in Stiles’ neck and breathing in heavily. It isn’t a loud moan‒ it would be barely audible for someone with a normal human hearing range‒ but Derek’s more sensitive ears pick it up like a beacon. He nuzzles at Stiles’ throat, licks the faintly salty skin there and smirks inwardly when the other man moans again, this time audible to the point of being loud to even human ears.

He pulls back, then. Stiles skin is flushed, his eyes shut tightly, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth hanging open just a bit. His lips are wet and reddened from the friction of rubbing against Derek’s own. It’s a sight that Derek has waited months‒ over a year if you count the span of time before he’d thought that being with Stiles like this was even the faintest possibility (maybe even two, if you count the time before Derek thought he even _wanted_ it to be a possibility)‒ to see, and he finds himself unwilling to even breathe for fear of breaking the moment. It isn’t long, though, before the moment is broken anyway. Stiles eyes open abruptly. There is an obvious confusion there, and he’s looking into Derek’s eyes- searching.  He works his jaw a moment before he speaks‒

“Derek‒ what‒?”

‒and it’s a sort of hoarse whisper, but it rings through Derek. For the briefest moment he feels doubt- perhaps he had it all wrong, perhaps he’d misread the signs, perhaps Stiles didn’t feel the same way after all. He looks away, moves to step back, but then Stiles’ hand is on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Hey. Look at me.” And of course Derek does. There is still some confusion in those eyes, but there is something else as well‒ a want that is as unmistakable as the one he knows is mirrored in his own eyes. “What is- Derek, what is this? What exactly are we doing here?”

Derek‒ well, of course he should’ve known that he’d have to do this- have to try to put this into words when all he wants to do is just... devour all of Stiles‒ take him and‒ and his wolf side is urging‒ Mount him! Mate him! _Breed_ him! _Fill him with_ ‒ and somewhere along the way this thing‒ this want‒ he has for Stiles has exploded into a million different facets of his life. He wants Stiles. He wants him sleeping in his bed and living in his home‒ along with the rest of the pack, but‒ Stiles _especially_. He wants his home to be Stiles’ home, he wants it to be their home, he wants to‒ he wants to eat breakfast with Stiles in the morning‒ every morning‒ and dinner‒ lunch too, whenever possible. He wants for Stiles to joke about how his new haircut somehow makes him look like a boyband reject and pretend that he’s annoyed when he’d tolerate just about anything to hear that laugh. He wants for Stiles to come to him when he’s had a bad day so that he can fix it even though he has no idea how he could possibly do that, he wants for Stiles to be happy and he just- he just wants Stiles to be there with him. He just wants Stiles. But there’s no way that he can say that‒ any of it‒ out loud, and Stiles is just standing there in front of him, waiting, so he just‒

“I’d think it would be pretty obvious what we’re doing Stiles‒”

‒and that is definitely not what he wanted to say, but it’s too late to take it back, and he watches, not without a certain degree of anguish, as a little bit of the light in Stiles’ eyes goes out. The want is still there, but it’s... duller than it was before, and Derek just wants to... he needs to say something to get that spark back, he needs to‒

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

‒but then Stiles is pulling him back in, and‒ and god those lips‒ and he just, fuck he wants so fucking badly. Stiles is the one taking the initiative this time‒ grabbing at his clothes and pulling him forward as they kiss, and it’s a messy kiss‒ all slobber and tongue and their lips not quite meeting up properly‒ but it’s good. It isn’t long before they’re grinding together as well and it’s‒ well, okay it isn’t amazing, but this is Stiles so it’s‒ it’s good, it’s really‒

‒ He pulls back again when things start to get a little too heavy. He doesn’t want this, their first time together, to happen up against his front door. Stiles grumbles a bit, but seems to get the message when Derek grabs the front of his jacket and starts pulling him back towards the stairs.

They keep their hands mostly to themselves on the way up, but the moment they make it to the second floor they’re on each other again, only this time Stiles is pulling at his shirt and he’s pushing that goddamned jacket off Stiles’ shoulders and they’re just letting things fall to the floor and it’s seconds that feel like forever but then they’re both shirtless and there is nothing but skin between them. Stiles’ chest is flushed red and Derek just wants to feel that skin beneath his palms, so he does‒ he spreads his hands across Stiles’ chest and it’s smooth and warm and then they’re kissing again, and he’s moving his hands down to Stiles’ waist as Stiles’ arms wrap around his shoulders.

They slowly make their way back towards the bedroom, barely breaking contact, even with their lips, and then only to look around and make sure that they aren’t going to run into a wall or trip on a rug or something, because that would suck, and Derek really wants to do this in a bed‒ in his bed‒ not on the floor because they fell and couldn’t bring themselves to separate long enough to get the hell up off the ground.

When they finally‒ finally make it to the end of the hall, Stiles pulls away from Derek. They’re still practically on top of each other, but they’re far enough apart that he can once again meet Stiles’ gaze with his own. He’s about to say something‒ he has no idea what since he’s pretty sure he’s running on instinct rather than intelligence at this point‒ but then Stiles lets his arms fall from around Derek’s neck and slips his fingers into the beltloops of Derek's jeans, pulling him slowly backwards and into the bedroom.

Stiles doesn't stop until they're standing right at the foot of the bed, and then he's training his gaze downwards and moving his hands to Derek's fly, and‒ Derek knows he should stop this‒ should pull back and ask if Stiles is okay with this, if he wants to slow down‒ stop even‒ but he wants. He's wanted this for so damn long and he just can't shake the feeling that if he does stop, even just for a second, that Stiles will change his mind‒ come to his senses and decide that Derek just isn't worth any of the bullshit he puts up with, and then he'll leave and Derek will be here all alone in this goddamned empty house and he might never have another chance to‒ to feel this‒ to be here, like this, with Stiles, who is somehow all that he's fucking thought of for what feels like forever, and he can't‒ _can't_ ‒ let that happen.

He can feel a slight quiver in Stiles' hands as he undoes the top button of Derek's jeans‒ he's nervous, but Derek can see a determination in him too. He looks back up at Derek, expression taking on a sort of sly half-smile as his fingers move to the zipper. He pulls it down slowly‒ teasingly, even‒ and it is apparent to Derek that he is attempting to look sexy as he does so‒ it isn't really effective in the way he's trying for it to be, but the simple fact that Stiles is trying to be sexy for Derek has Derek's cock hardening to the point where it's almost painful.

"So, I’m‒ uh‒ going to blow you now, okay?"‒ and the tone of Stiles' voice is casual, although both of them know that Derek can hear the hitch in the other’s breath as he says it, just as well as he can hear the beating of Stiles' heart speed up. Stiles' doesn't actually give him time to respond, though, simply falling to his knees, pulling the jeans and boxer-briefs down off Derek's hips, and taking a firm hold at the base of Derek's shaft. He gives a few strokes before he leans forward.

“You don’t have to‒” Derek hears himself start to say, but he doesn’t really know where the other half of the sentence was going‒ doesn’t think he could have finished it even if every ounce of his concentration wasn’t focused several feet downward as Stiles’ lips wrap around the head of his cock. Derek groans, his eyes falling shut, as Stiles starts to move, taking the rest of him in, and then pulling back out a little, in and out, in and out, tracing the underside of Derek’s cock with his tongue as he goes.

It quickly becomes apparent to Derek that this is not Stiles’ first time at this. For a moment Derek’s mind is flooded with a furious jealousy that someone, somewhere, has been here, like this, in the forefront of Stiles attention, before him. He grapples for the likeliest candidate‒ decides on Danny, who is gay, and with whom Stiles had always seemed to have some sort of fascination‒ but then Danny had never really seemed to return any attraction that might have been there on Stiles’ part. Had Stiles gone out and met someone at a club?‒ Someone who probably didn’t know and didn’t care how old he was or that he didn’t have any experience and just wanted to get their dick sucked- who would’ve treated Stiles like just some other fuck. The thought stirs Derek’s anger on even further. His hands clench to fists as his nails lengthen, digging into his own palms, and he‒

“Derek?” Stiles voice cuts through his raging thoughts. He opens his eyes. Stiles is still kneeling there before him, but he’s pulled back to look up at Derek, eyes wide and concerned. Derek lets his hands loosen at his sides, his nails back to normal length, the skin of his palms already knitting itself back together. “Is this not okay?”

Derek sits back on the edge of the bed. He takes a deep breath, lets it loose and feels the anger flow out with it.

“No, it’s just‒” He starts, but Stiles is already back in ramble-mode.

“‒Because if sucking you off is gonna make you turn then that’s something I’d really like to know beforehand- like if that’s a thing with you‒ sex equals going all wolfy? I know that doesn’t happen with Scott‒ he definitely would have mentioned it‒ but maybe it’s a born-wolf thing? Or even just a you thing‒ I’m not saying I couldn’t, you know, get past it, but I’d like to know if I should start running for the hills,” It’s the way he says it, not at all jokingly, and just so damn Stiles‒ for a moment, Derek is thrown for words.

“So‒” he manages to get out after a few seconds, “‒you think that every time I have sex with someone I what?‒ Lose every ounce of control that I have over turning?” he pauses, looking straight at Stiles, as another thing occurs to him, and lets a small, but sharp grin appear on his face, “‒and you _still_ want to have sex with me?”

Stiles‒ Well, Stiles is caught between annoyance and utter bewilderment if his expression is anything to go by. He stands to his feet, brushing off the front of his jeans, “Well what am I supposed to think when you’re obviously wolfing out while I’m kneeling here with your dick in my mouth? It’s not like it’s so far of a jump.”

Derek is quiet, looking up at Stiles as his sharp grin fades away, leaving only the smallest hint of a smile. Finally, he lifts his right hand upwards, wrapping it around the back of Stiles’ neck, and pulls the other man down towards him. Their lips meet, and it isn’t at all like the frantic kissing of the last few minutes. This kiss is slow and deep. Into it, Derek tries to pour all of his affection for the other man, or at least as much as he can stand to show. Stiles seems to take this as an adequate apology, and it isn’t long before he’s kissing back with vigor.

After a few moments, Derek brings his left hand up to rest on Stiles’ hip, carefully urging the other man forward. Stiles consents easily, kneeling up onto the bed to straddle Derek’s hips, and then Stiles is grinding down onto him, and he’s grinding his own hips up to meet Stiles’ and the feel of the denim still covering the other man’s groin is almost too much for Derek. He scoots his own hips back just a bit and brings his right palm to the front of Stiles’ jeans, pressing lightly, and reveling in the hissing sound and subsequent moan Stiles pours into their kiss. He makes short work of the button of Stiles’ jeans, but the zipper gets stuck about halfway down‒

“‒ _Fuck_. These pants‒” Stiles murmurs, aggravation apparent.  He pulls back and they separate just long enough for him to yank the zipper the rest of the way down. The moment he does, Derek’s hands are at his hips, sliding into his jeans and underwear and pushing them downwards at the same time. He pushes Stiles’ jeans down to just above the knee and they fall the rest of the way on their own. Stiles steps easily out of them, kicking them aside with his left foot and then leaning down and bringing first one leg and then the other up so he can remove his socks. He stands then and‒ he is glorious‒ all lean muscle and smooth skin broken up by the occasional freckle or mole and fuck if Derek doesn’t want to just lay Stiles out on the bed and lick every single one of them. Stiles cock stands out proudly, from a small forest of curls. He’s leaking just a bit at the tip and Derek would be lying if he said his mouth wasn’t watering just looking at it, but instead of leaning forward and taking that length into his mouth like he wants to, he looks down, suddenly reminded that his own jeans are still pushed only halfway down his thighs.

He quickly divests himself of both jeans and socks, and the moment he looks back up, Stiles is on him again, covering Derek’s lips with his own, straddling his hips and‒ fuck‒ reaching down to take hold of both of them. Stiles has large hands‒ a little larger than Derek’s own even, though with thinner fingers, and Derek had known this intellectually‒ might have even entertained a thought or two of those hands wrapped around him, getting him off with just the right pressure and at just the right speed‒ but that was nothing compared to the real thing.

Stiles is a bit cautious at first‒ “Okay?”‒ he questions softly, pulling out of the kiss again, Derek just pulls him back in, squeezing Stiles’ thigh just a bit in encouragement. It doesn’t take long at all for Stiles to‒ seemingly, at least‒ forget about any lingering nervousness. He quickly gets into a good steady rhythm, his grip not quite as tight as Derek is used to‒ his own‒ but that doesn’t matter when he’s angling his hand just... so.

Derek’s left hand, which had come to rest on Stiles’ hip now moves upwards to cup the “L” of his jaw. His right hand, however, moves back around to grasp at Stiles’ ass, pulling his body in even closer. Soon Stiles is canting his hips up into his own fist there in Derek’s lap in time with Derek’s own short thrusts, their kiss growing ever more insistent, and significantly less precise.

Stiles is panting and Derek breaks away from his mouth, moving down to kiss‒ lick‒ bite at Stiles’ neck and Stiles is tilting his head back and moaning, and god‒ he could deal with hearing more of that sound‒ wants more of Stiles’ here in his lap, in his room, in his bed, panting and moaning at Derek’s touch. He wants more of this‒ more of Stiles‒ wants to take him apart and put him back together‒ wants Stiles moaning his name‒ only his name‒ and he realizes belatedly that he’s saying this, all of this, out loud but it doesn’t matter because Stiles is tensing up there in his lap and practically fucking yelling Derek’s name as he comes and Derek just keeps talking like the goddamn floodgate’s come loose and he can’t keep it in.

He’s practically holding Stiles up as he’s telling him how fucking gorgeous he is, how much Derek has wanted this, that he’s been waiting so fucking long hoping that Stiles might want it too and it’s too much‒ it’s too fucking much‒ but Stiles is pulling back from where his head had come to rest on Derek’s shoulder, bringing his hand up to wrap around the back of Derek’s neck and pulling him into another kiss‒ effectively cutting off his rambling words.

They kiss for a little‒ slow again, but just as intense‒ before Stiles pulls back, smiling faintly.

“Sorry, it‒” he chokes out a stilted laugh, “‒it didn’t seem like you could stop there for a second. I’ve uh‒ been there,” he trails off as he looks downwards. Stiles’ cock has gone mostly soft, but Derek is still hard and aching, covered in Stiles’ come, and he watches as Stiles bites down on his own lower lip, looking back up at Derek with lightly hooded eyes, “Do you‒ do you want me to‒?”

“You don’t have to‒” Derek cuts him off, “I can just‒” he moves his right hand slightly‒ the universal symbol for jacking off “‒or you can‒ do whatever. Whatever you want.”

Stiles’ gaze flicks downward for a moment, brows furrowed, obviously contemplating something, but when his head tilts back up, darkened eyes looking directly into Derek’s own, he can see no doubt there.

“I want you to fuck me,” he bites at his lip again, “If that’s something you want.”

And Derek‒ _God_ ‒ Derek has no idea what to say to that‒ that kind of directness. He wants‒ he wants so fucking badly to just pick Stiles up, throw him on the bed, and take what’s being offered here‒ not unkindly but with every bit of unbridled lust and instinct that he’s had chained up inside himself for what seems like years. It’s what his wolf wants, has wanted for ages, and a Derek Hale, still reeling from the loss of his last remaining family, lost in the memory of fire, kept sane and alive only through his own anger and a need for revenge, might have taken, and taken, and let the wolf loose, but Derek‒ this Derek‒ knows he is bigger than his instinct. He is more than the wolf, and he wants more with Stiles than just a hard fuck.

But the wolf is still a part of him‒ and if it’s what Stiles wants too‒

“Are you‒ you’re sure that’s something you want?” He sets every viable sense to focus on Stiles’ answer, ready to feel the tensing of his muscles, catch the scent of worry, hear the hesitation in his voice, the falter in his steady heartbeat, see any hint of apprehension in his eyes, his expression, his posture.

“I’m sure, Derek. I want this with you.”

Perfect certainty.

“Okay.”

Stiles’ eyes widen then, not in fear but as though he had expected Derek to turn him down‒ as though he thought he would have had to work harder to get Derek to agree‒ as though he thought Derek didn’t want this with every fiber of himself and was not putting every effort just now into holding back because he wants this to be right- he wants this to be right for Stiles.

Stiles’ eyes stay wide, but there is no hesitation to follow as Derek wraps his arms around him and begins to shift them both, pulling Stiles onto the bed and back, turning them until Stiles is lying underneath him in the middle of the bed. They kiss again before Derek pulls back and reaches up to pull out the drawer to his endtable. It rattles as he pulls it open, and Derek winces as it shrieks‒ makes a mental note to buy some WD-40. Once opened, he reaches in, shifting papers and junk around, before pulling out a small, half-used bottle of lube and a Trojan “Her Pleasure” condom‒ he winces again‒ if he’d expected any of this, he’d have gone out beforehand and purchased a new bottle and condoms, but he’s certainly not leaving to get it now. He quickly checks the date on the condom‒ still in date but not by far‒ a remnant from his brief fling with Jennifer.

Stiles looks amused when he sees the gendered condom, but makes no comment on it, simply urging Derek to hurry the hell up‒ both verbally, and by wrapping his legs around Derek’s torso, pulling him in closer. Derek quickly flips the cap on the bottle of lube, squeezing out a bit onto his fingers, before re-capping the bottle and throwing it elsewhere on the bed. He rubs the lube between his fingers a bit before reaching down between Stiles’ legs. He hesitates then, looking back up at Stiles, wanting to be sure‒ needing to be certain‒ that this is okay, that this is definitely what Stiles wants. Stiles’ cheeks are flushed a bright red, his eyes darkened in lust, and he looks at Derek, eyelids half-shut, as though he wants to close them but cannot bear to, as though he doesn’t want to miss a second of this, and that‒ that makes Derek feel powerful in a way that being an alpha never did, because he knows that this is something he can do right. He knows he can make this so good for Stiles.

Derek leans down, capturing Stiles’ lips as he slides his first finger into Stiles’ ass‒ allows himself to feel as though he is claiming it as his own. After a few moments Derek starts to move his hand, finding a good rhythm, sliding in and out of Stiles, and it isn’t long at all before he’s carefully sliding in another finger. Stiles moans into the kiss as he does so, and Derek stops moving his hand for a moment, just in case, but it sounded like a good-moan and not a pain-moan and Stiles hasn’t stopped kissing him so he keeps moving. Derek slides his fingers in and out, in and out of Stiles, with a slight twist of his wrist every so often. Stiles is moaning pretty steadily now, and Derek starts to scissor his fingers inside of Stiles, slowly stretching the muscles there. He keeps on like that for a while, switching between the stretching and the in and out, until, after a few minutes, Stiles pushes Derek back just a bit, pulling out of their kiss. His eyes are shut at first, and he opens them slowly- still only to halfway.

“Derek,” and Derek immediately stops moving his hand, “ _No_. No-no-no don’t _stop_ ‒” Stiles rushes to correct, and Derek cautiously starts moving again, “‒I just. You know‒ you can go faster than this. I’ve only been fingering myself half of every time I’ve jacked off for the last three years. Just‒ just stick another finger in if you have to and then get in me, okay? _Please_.”

And Derek can feel his dick, which has softened quite a bit since before, suddenly harden at the thought of Stiles, lying on his back like this in his own bedroom, legs spread wide as he jerks himself off, fingers sliding in and out of his own ass.

“I can do that.”

So Derek slowly, carefully, slides in a third finger, taking some time to stretch Stiles a little bit more, but not so much that the younger man starts getting impatient again. Soon Derek is pulling back, reaching down and tearing the condom out of its’ package, sliding it onto his dick, and lining up.

He pulls back enough so that he can see Stiles’ face. He wants to be sure he knows immediately if there’s any discomfort, so that he can fix it, but he really just hopes to see pleasure on Stiles’ face as Derek pushes inside him, which he does, so, so slowly. He watches Stiles expressions change over every inch as he slides in, and when he is finally seated fully inside of Stiles, he closes his eyes. For a moment‒ just for a moment‒ he wants to feel this‒ just this‒ what it’s like to be inside of Stiles‒ What it’s like to be inside of this boy-turned-man that he has been in love with for years. And‒

Oh.

Love.

And‒ he knows that it is love. That it has been love. But he hasn’t‒ hadn’t thought of it as such. Before now. And it’s ridiculous that it should be now that he finally realizes it but it is, and it is love, and he’s in love with Stiles, and has been in love with Stiles for ages, and he’s inside Stiles right now and it’s so‒

“Derek, you can move now.”

‒and Derek’s eyes shoot open as he realizes he’s been just kneeling here inside of Stiles with his eyes shut and his mouth hanging open for far too long and Stiles is looking up at him again with both impatience and amusement and Derek wants to think maybe just a hint of wonder as well and so Derek takes just a second to steady himself and then‒ then‒ he starts to move.

His first few thrusts are stilted as he gets used to the feeling of tight warmth surrounding his cock. But after three or four short, grinding thrusts, he pulls back, almost out entirely, and then after a brief moment, pushes all the way back in, feeling gratified when Stiles lets out a loud, almost startled, moan.

Yes. This he can do. This is one of the few things that Derek knows he’s good at.

He bats away Stiles’ hand where the younger man had been slowly pulling on his own almost-entirely-hard-again cock, and takes over, jacking Stiles off in time with Derek’s own thrusts. They move together‒ Derek thrusting in and out, Stiles’ hips canting up to meet him‒ and looking down, Derek feels like a God, but Stiles‒ Stiles is anything but a sacrifice. He’s grasping the sheets with one hand, using that hold as leverage to thrust back towards Derek, and with the other hand, now free, he reaches up to pull Derek down to him. They kiss through a few thrusts‒ the position is a bit awkward, since Derek has to angle Stiles’ legs up a bit as well to reach, but Stiles is limber from playing lacrosse for several years, so the bend isn’t too uncomfortable for him. Even when they pull apart, Stiles keeps Derek close, fingers sliding through sweat-dampened hair as he holds the back of Derek’s head and Derek leans down further to kiss Stiles’ neck, just under his jaw‒ lick the sweat from his skin there. Stiles is speaking as well, not that it’s so surprising since this is _Stiles_ , but he’s spouting all sorts of filthy things, urging Derek on‒

“Fuck- fuck- come on, Derek, _harder_ ‒ oh‒ _yeah_ , that’s‒”

‒and Derek has no presence of mind, or _will_ , to do anything but comply with everything Stiles’ asks for. He thrusts harder when Stiles’ asks for it, faster, angles his hips just so‒ anything Stiles wants from him.

It isn’t too long before Derek realizes he’s getting pretty close. He doesn’t know how close Stiles is, but there seem to be far more “fuck”s and “Derek”s interspersed between moans than there were before, so if that is any indication, he’s pretty close too. It’s getting a little hard for Derek to focus, so he doesn’t. He keeps thrusting, at about the same pace, rhythm, but he stops paying so much attention to individual thrusts, lets himself hear Stiles’ voice rather than focusing on every single word.

He’s moved down to kissing, licking, at the base of Stiles’ neck now, and he knows, in an abstract sort of way, that he’s definitely leaving a few marks there, and that he should stop, but Stiles’ is just pulling him closer, holding his head where it is, urging him on with the tone of his voice, and Derek is faintly aware that he is speaking as well‒ Stiles’ name, over and over, along with‒ “Beautiful, oh God Stiles, you’re so‒” and Stiles’ is getting louder, and their thrusts are getting shorter, and Derek is‒ and Stiles is‒

‒And Derek is coming, shouting Stiles’ name so loud he swears he feels the whole house tremor with the echo of it, and just seconds later, Stiles is coming as well, Derek’s name on his tongue, his dick pulsing in Derek’s hand. Derek keeps thrusting through his own orgasm, keeps fisting Stiles’ cock through his, barely holding himself up now with his one free arm. As his orgasm dwindles, Derek slows his thrusts, until, after a few moments, he stops entirely. He stills his hand as well, then carefully lets go of his grip, leaving Stiles’ cock to lay, slowly softening, on his own come-painted belly.

Stiles is looking up at him, eyes half-lidded once again. His cheeks, shining with sweat, are still‒ again‒ flushed a deep, vibrant, red‒ as are his lips, and Derek can’t help but to lean down and kiss him yet again. They kiss now, without any sense of urgency‒ deep, slow kisses, with barely any sexual undertone. This is probably Derek’s favorite part of sex‒ the comedown. He likes the sex itself, of course, the orgasm, obviously, but this? This is just pure languid closeness, and Derek loves it‒ loves the feel of being sweaty and spent with another person, muscles used and a little achy, the air feeling cool on over-warm skin, and while it’s a bit different here with Stiles‒ and not only because he hasn’t actually slept with another man in a bed since New York‒ it’s only different in a good way‒ only different because it’s _better_.

“You might want to...” Stiles says when Derek pulls back a bit, trailing off, but with a slight head-nod downward, where, of course, Derek’s cock is still inside of Stiles’ ass.

Right.

Derek carefully moves back up to his kneeling position, bringing his left hand down in between them to hold the condom as he carefully pulls his now flaccid cock out of Stiles. Stiles flinches a bit as he does so and Derek immediately inhales, sniffing the air for the scent of blood, but can smell no injury. Just the normal soreness, then.

“Okay?” Derek asks, just in case, and Stiles gives him a sort of half nod and grumble that sounds vaguely like a yes as his eyes start to fall shut.

Derek smiles at that, feeling giddy post-coitus, both unwilling and unable to keep up the walls he normally uses to hide his emotions. He scoots back off the bed, standing on slightly shaky legs, and heads for the bathroom, tying and tossing the used condom into the trash, and grabbing a soft rag out of the cabinet.

By the time he returns to his bedroom, rag slightly dampened, Stiles is fast asleep, snoring lightly, and possibly drooling on Derek’s pillow. He’s turned onto his side, which makes it a little more awkward for Derek to reach around and clean the drying come off of his stomach, but he does so anyway, and, while he feels a bit like a weird pervert doing so now that Stiles is asleep, he also, very carefully, wipes once between Stiles ass cheeks, getting rid of some of the lube‒ Derek has had dried lube on his ass before and remembers it as a not particularly enjoyable feeling.

Goal accomplished, he tosses the rag onto his own pile of discarded clothing, and climbs back onto the bed behind Stiles, pulling a thin blanket up from the bottom of the bed and laying it over the both of them. He hesitates for a moment, then, but only a moment, before wrapping his arm around Stiles, pulling the other man close, and letting his own eyes finally fall shut.

 

\-------

 

It’s about 10:30 am when Derek opens his eyes again, according to the little antique alarm clock he keeps on his bedside table, which strikes Derek as odd because he always sets his alarm to wake him at six. It takes him a moment to realize that the reason why his alarm hadn’t woken him is because he hadn’t set it, and a split second longer to remember _why_ he hadn’t.

The sheer fact that he is able to see his alarm clock from where he is laying on the bed means that the space in front of him is no longer occupied. He listens, certain for only the briefest of moments that he will hear the shower running, or the sound of movement in the kitchen, but there is nothing. He sits up, and sure enough, while his own clothes are still strewn across the floor, Stiles’ are nowhere to be found. He looks back at the clock, and from this angle he can see that there is a once-folded piece of paper slipped under the side of it, like one might do with the waiter’s tip at a restaurant. He leans over and pulls it out, unfolding it‒ “ _Thanks for a great night - Stiles_ ”‒ it reads and Derek feels like he’s swallowed a chunk of lead.

Two days later he gets a text from Stiles saying that he and Scott have found a connection between two of Beacon Hill’s most recent murders‒ they think it might be something supernatural‒ surprise, surprise‒ and will Derek please meet up with them so they can all try to figure out what might be going on and how to stop it before anyone else gets hurt‒ as though Derek even has the option of not helping when Stiles gets involved in something like this.

At the meeting Stiles acts the same as ever, as though nothing at all has changed between them, and Derek doesn’t want to make it a big deal and possibly lose Stiles entirely even if he can still feel that lead in his gut, that needful ache tearing him apart inside, so he says nothing, and does his best to act like that night meant nothing to him either, even though it meant everything. Having this camaraderie with Stiles is better than losing Stiles altogether.

Stiles says something about checking out the Argent’s bestiary, and Derek tells him that he’s welcome to look through some of the old books that were stored away in the Hale vault as well, if he thinks it will help. Stiles smiles and says he was hoping that Derek would offer that because it isn’t like he can get into the vault on his own‒ “No claws”‒ he says and lifts his hands up to demonstrate, and when he laughs, Derek laughs too.

Yeah.

This is better than nothing.

**  
**

**Author's Note:**

> I... do have additional plans for this story. Unfortunately, I have very little time to write, so I will make no promises on a continuation, and even if I do manage to write more, it will likely be a long time coming. Just fyi. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it anyway?


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